


days that got away

by honeybb_79



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Amon centric partially, Brotherhood, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Gen, How Do I Tag, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29836635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybb_79/pseuds/honeybb_79
Summary: In which the many instances a maskless Amon meets with Tarrlok after many years. Tarrlok doesnt know it's him.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	days that got away

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello lol first off, I'd like to say that these two deserved better, and I will keep saying that. Secondly, Yakone can go to hell.

He relaxed as his back reclined back against the chair. The morning sun shines brightly through the windows of his once darkened apartment. He had prepared himself a cup of tea and waited for it to cool down a bit as the steam flowed out of the cup high into the air. The morning newspaper laid nicely on the table next to his sitting teacup. He reaches for it and reads the front page. With his other arm, he grasps onto the teacup, placing it closer to his lips, and lets out a gentle blow. He takes a sip and devours the hot feeling of tea hit against his throat, but as he flipped the page over, he saw _his_ face and _his_ name scrawled in big letters: “WINNER: Councilman Tarrlok.” His eyes widened at the title and coughed the remaining tea. He was taken aback. This was the first time he had ever heard of his little brother in years since he had run away.

How long had it been? Probably more than twenty years. His little brother wasn't so little anymore. He studies the picture of Tarrlok under the title, and his features almost look the same as his own. He softly laughed to himself when he noticed that he had never really changed his hairstyle. It was the usual— the three ponytails. Amon subconsciously touches his own hair: it was short and no longer in a ponytail like he had when he was growing up with Tarrlok, like when he was a kid.

Cutting his own hair, and leaving it short, was a symbol of a new life. A new identity. He wasn't Yakone's son. He wasn't a product of revenge. No, he was now Amon. He was the leader of a revolution that had slowly begun to make an uprise lately— though the world didn't know of them yet.

His eyes began to hover below the picture of Tarrlok and started reading the paragraphs. His eyes moving left and right in eagerness to know what had his little brother been up to after all these years. "Councilman Tarrlok is the winner of last night's Northern Water Tribe representation election..." His eyes moved again, soaking up each word to process what he had been reading. "At just thirty-five years old (merely thirty-six in a few weeks from now) is the youngest elected official in Republic City..." Amon eyes away from the newspaper and looks behind him at the wall where a calendar had hung. He had looked towards the bottom of the page and eyed a familiar date where he would spend celebrating with his family when he was a child. Tarrlok's birthday was coming up soon, he had forgotten about it, but he was refreshed by the memory.

He turns to face in front of him to continue reading the newspaper article on his little brother. He began to read again— intrigued on the life of Tarrlok that he so happened to miss out on. How things would’ve been different if Tarrlok had gone with him. He shook his head at the thought and began to read again. “Councilman Tarrlok had grown up in the Northern Water Tribe as an only child...” That sentence stung him in the chest. He didn’t think it would, but knowing that Tarrlok was interviewed, he responded by saying he was an only child— it felt like erasure. He deserved it, right? It made sense to steer away from his missing brother because he would be flooded with questions that he wouldn’t dare to answer. Amon felt something in him sink as the sentence kept protruding into his mind. He had left his little brother in the hands of their abuser and a mother that didn’t know the dark history of what they’d do on their “hunting trips.” He shudders at the thought. He despised his father and everything associated with bending because of him.

The memories flood back of his childhood, and ultimately, his body stays stiff, and his hand lets go of the grasp of the newspaper, and it falls to the ground. His arms rested on top of the surface of the table as he sat there contemplating— wondering where it all went wrong. What things could’ve been changed?

\----

For the first time in a while, Amon had gone out of his way to stroll through the city without a uniform and his mask. He watches the busy world around him where people were stuck in traffic on certain main streets. Amon makes his way to a park that had a fountain settled in the middle of it and observed quietly as other people walked the pathway and chatted amongst themselves. He wasn’t sure why he had decided to take this portion of the day all to himself, but he was curious about where this would lead him.

Unknowingly, he stumbled to the part of the city where City Hall had stood. Its expansive golden building glowed as the sunlight beamed against it. This is where the council people had worked— where his brother will work. He was at the front steps of the building. The doors were open, and many people walked in and out of it with furniture in their hands.

“Councilman Tarrlok wants this settled at the back corner of his office,” Amon heard a squeaky voice say to one of the men carrying a box inside City Hall. His heart picked up speed as he questioned if his brother was in there right now getting settled into his office. Amon wasn’t sure how it was going to go or what he would say. What would he say to his little brother after many years with no communication whatsoever? He stood there for a bit, contemplating if his feet would ever pick up from the ground and just guide him inside. He felt frozen enough and just decided to continue walking and going on about his day.

\----

He had walked into a farmers market of the city, where for a whole week, local farmers would gather on one street and sell their own produce. This was wherein a few instances, he would show his face to the world since they didn't know who he was or what he looked like. From afar, he watched Tarrlok stroll through the street and observe the produce that was up for sale. Tarrlok hadn't noticed Amon watching him. Tarrlok hadn't realized that his long-lost older brother was right there, just a few feet away. Amon was planning on bumping into him, have a small conversation, and then leave. Still, now that he sees Tarrlok upfront and personal, he wasn't so sure anymore.

He watched Tarrlok grab a few fruit and vegetables. Amon tried to play it off and act like he was also looking to purchase a couple of things. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Tarrlok had already purchased his items and grabbed his bag when Amon made his way towards him. Tarrlok turned away from the cashier and made his way out of the crowded section when he felt someone's shoulder hit against his own shoulder as he passed by. He stops in his tracks, turns to look at a man that had paused to look at him too.

Amon didn't know what to say, and all that came out was, "I'm sorry." An apology that he needed to say was long overdue. He apologized for leaving him— though Tarrlok thought he was apologizing for crashing into him.

Tarrlok gave an awkward smile to the stranger and said, "It's fine. Don't worry about it." and went about his day.

\----

Amon watched Tarrlok leave his apartment for the day as he carried his things for work. When Tarrkok drove away into the city, Amon crossed the street and climbed up to a window. Luckily, Tarrlok didn’t live in a busy neighborhood of the city, so it was easier for him to barge in through the window without anyone suspecting anything. He lifted it up and shoved himself through, ending up in the living space area of Tarrlok’s home. He stood there in the middle of the room and observed everything. He walked through the room and into another. It was his office space that had a pile of paperwork on one corner of his desk. Everything was organized— classic Tarrlok. He also had bookshelves of scholarly books about history and politics. He had never thought his own brother would ever be interested in politics— I guess some people change, he thinks to himself.

As he hovers closely at the desk, he notices Tarrlok had a flyer about the equalist movement. It had small notes written all over it that had said:

“Equalist movement? Terrorists?”

“Masked man is the leader— the name is Amon?”

Amon scoffs at the written notes. Perhaps his little brother had known about him after all. He reads one more note written on the page:

“Potential threat to the city,” and the sentence was circled multiple times by ink. Word had gotten around about his equalist movement. Still, the city didn’t think of them as a threat and believed they would’ve taken them down by now, but seeing Tarrlok’s note, there was one person who thought otherwise.

He looks away from the flyer that sat on top of his desk. He froze when his eyes laid on a picture of someone. It was a small framed photo of a woman that was placed on the desk. Amon's arm reaches out to grab it and observes the photo. It was a picture of their mother. She looked so young in the photo and so happy. After all these years, he had forgotten how she looked and wondered if she was okay now.

His mind goes back to the day he ran away. When he had stopped his own father from hurting Tarrlok and stood with him. He had remembered the eagerness in his voice when he pleaded with Tarrlok to go with him. It was the only way for them to be happy— that's what he had thought then. He remembered the uneasiness in Tarrlok's voice when a part of him wanted to leave with him, but then he also couldn't leave their mother alone like that. Not with a man like Yakone. As selfish as he was then, Amon couldn't believe that a fourteen-year-old had gotten out of his way and succeeded.

After seeing a photo of their mother, Amon's heart suddenly began to ache. He was hurting. He was so mad at himself for leaving her and Tarrlok with their father.

"I'm sorry," he whispers at the photo at places it back to where it was. He left the rest of the room untouched as he looked over at the many things Tarrlok had. He didn't have many photos hung on the walls but rather artwork throughout the whole apartment with only two photos. One of which was him and his mother, and she looked so much older than she did than the previous image he had seen on Tarrlok's desk. Amon walked out of the room into the hallways. There sat another photo: one of Tarrlok with Noatak. He widened his eyes after taking a glance at the image. He hadn't seen this photo in years and had forgotten that it even existed. In the photo, they were hugging, and they were maybe around 5 to 2 years old. He didn't quite remember anymore.

The photo of them brought back memories of when they were children. One of the fondest memories of his was when they would play in the snow and didn't mind its coldness. Sometimes, they would gather a bunch of snow in their hands, throw it up in the air, and let it sprinkle around them.

“Make a wish!” They’d say to each other and wished on something in their minds— not speaking it out loud in fear that their wish wouldn’t come true.

He stood there in the hallway outside of Tarrlok’s office, staring at the photo. He didn’t think being inside Tarrlok’s apartment would spur up memories in his mind that he had thought he had gotten rid of. His old life— the old life he tried so hard to detach from.

He had to go. He made his way out of the apartment through the window like he did earlier, and he went back to the underground facility where his followers were.

\----

  
On some occasions, he had seen Tarrlok go into a jazz club at night. This time, he had gotten the courage to walk in and find him— hopefully to have a conversation. Whatever it may be. Amon had stepped into the dimly lit area. In the back of the spot was a local jazz band playing a soft tune. There were people of many backgrounds. Some alone and some gathered together in a group. His eyes searched around the room, looking for one particular person.

Tarrlok had sat alone at the counter of the bar with a drink in his hand. Amon noticed that Tarrlok was fiddling with his fingers as his hands clasped onto his glass. Amon immediately recognized that manner. When Tarrlok was little, when he got nervous or lost in his own thoughts, he would fiddle with his fingers — followed by one of his legs bouncing up and down as he sat down.

Tarrlok began to bounce his leg and immediately had stopped himself as he took a sip of his drink. Amon walked towards the counter of the bar and sat just two seats away from Tarrlok. The bartender had walked over to him, so Amon ordered a drink. In the corner of his eye, he notices Tarrlok glance up from his drink and looks around the room. The bartender gave Amon his glass, and he mutters a thank you before he takes a sip— feeling the heat of it go down his throat.

He looked around the room and met eyes with Tarrlok. Tarrlok raised an eyebrow as he looked at Amon. Wondering where he had seen him before. To be truthful, the man did seem familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on why he had felt that way.

“Do I know you?” Tarrlok had asked Amon. Amon wasn’t sure if he had actually realized who he was and hesitated to answer him. Then, a quick smile appeared on Tarrlok’s face as he snapped his fingers once he had responded to his own question. “I remember you. We bumped into each other at the farmers market in the city.”

Amon nods his head, “Of course,” a smile plastered on his face, “I remember now.” He played along.

“What a small world,” Tarrlok said and looks down into his drink.

“You’re Councilman Tarrlok, right?” Amon had asked him.Tarrlok nodded his head.

“The one and only.”

Amon grabbed his drink and approached the seat next to Tarrlok. He didn’t think he’d do it so abruptly, but it felt right to do so. Tarrlok watched him get adjusted on the seat with a questionable look but shrugged it off.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on winning the election,” he cleared his throat. “I read about you in the newspaper a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, really?” Tarrlok smirks, “why, thank you.” Amon knew complimenting him would boost his ego. Now, he was more than inclined to continue the conversation.

“You know, I read that you’re from the Northern Water Tribe. My family is from the Southern Tribe,” he lied just to keep the conversation going. He wasn’t sure why he felt so awkward about this— wondering if Tarrlok would just like to be left alone, but surprisingly, he kept answering back to him. Not realizing his older brother was right in front of him. Tarrlok turns to his side to face Amon and sticks out his hand for a handshake.

“Always a pleasure to meet someone from our sister tribe,” he said with a smile. “How long have you been in the city? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Amon clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and answers, “About six years or so. I’ve been traveling a lot, actually.”

Tarrlok takes a sip of his drink and sighs, “I’ve been traveling a lot lately, but at times I miss home— though there isn’t anything in particular that I miss about it. Perhaps the nostalgia.”

Amon couldn’t believe Tarrlok was opening up to a stranger like this so quickly. Perhaps it was the alcohol that made him so loose than the stern and poised councilman veneer.

“Actually, I feel the same way. I would play countless hours in the snow, and it didn’t matter how late it had gotten.”

“Same here. I would actually gather all the snow in my hands and throw it up in the air—“

“To make a wish,” Amon finished his sentence. Tarrlok looked at him in surprise. He didn’t think other people had done the same things he would do.

"Yeah. . ." He trailed off with a slight smile. He looks at Amon for a brief moment and then lets out a small laugh, breaking away from looking at him more. "Sorry, you just caught me off guard. I'm surprised someone had done the same thing too. Did we have the same childhood?"

Amon stood still for a moment, and his face fell at the question.

Tarrlok laughs once again, "I'm just joking. Though, you do remind me of someone."

"I do?"

"Yeah, but they're not in my life anymore, so what can you do?" He trails off, taking a sip once again of his drink. Then he perks up when the jazz band plays another song, and he gasps as the sound of the first few notes begins to play.

"This was my mother's favorite song," he whispered as he turned to look at the band play. Amon didn't know that their mother was into jazz. Perhaps Tarrlok had gotten her into liking it. Amon observed Tarrlok as he tapped his fingers on the counter's surface to the rhythm of the song.

"I'm sure she is proud of you," Amon said without thinking.

"Yeah, she was."

"Was?"

Tarrlok fiddles with his fingers, "She passed away a few years ago." He lets out a sigh and runs his fingers through his hair, "today is the anniversary."

Amon's chest had tightened. He didn't know about their mother had passed away. He was too late on ever communicating with her ever again. She probably wondered throughout the rest of her life where Noatak was and hoped to see him again. Wherever it may be. He felt tears well in his eyes, and he fought so hard for them to not slip out down his cheek. He wipes them in a hurry and brushes his wet hand against his pants. Tarrlok hadn't noticed, for he was watching the band perform.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Amon had said his condolences. Tarrlok didn't know what to say. He never knew how to respond to that. Every time he'd mention that his parents had passed away, they always told him they were sorry about his loss. How does one respond to that? He would usually nod his head in appreciation and nothing else, but this time, it felt different. As if this person was genuine and understood.

"Thank you," is all he says with a slight shrug. "I don't know. I'd like to think she is free from any pain. She wasn't really herself anymore by the time she passed." He takes another sip of his drink and places it on the counter in front of him. "I was there for her every step of the way." This time, his tone had changed into a gentle but remorseful tone.

Amon's heart sank. To think that Tarrlok had spent most of his young adulthood with their mother and just taking care of her when he should've lived his life the way he wanted. He thought back to the night he ran away. He had remembered the last few words he had told Tarrlok before he left him with their father. He called him weak, and in this moment of Tarrlok's guard down, as he spilled a little bit about his life, Amon had changed his opinion of him. Perhaps he wasn't weak after all.

"You did good," he lets out a small smile to his little brother. I'm sorry I wasn't there, he wanted to say.

Tarrlok scoffs in a playful manner, "Thanks." The song was over, and the band began to play a different song where the upbeat tempo had played throughout the club. People had gathered in front of the band and began to dance.

Amon looked at Tarrlok once again. He was deep in thought as he sat there with the drink in his hand— just how Amon had found him when he walked in. Amon grabbed his glass and drank the rest of it in one large gulp before he had risen out of his seat.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Councilman Tarrlok," Amon bid his farewell as he stuck his hand out at his little brother for a handshake. Tarrlok takes his hand with a smile and shakes it.

"Same to you. It was a pleasure," he gives a small nod in response. Amon looked away from Tarrlok as he placed a couple of yuans on the counter to pay for his drink. Tarrlok was watching the crowd dance as he took the last few sips of alcohol. He had called over the bartender for another, and that is when Amon had turned to leave. He left the jazz club without another word.

Thinking he was still there, Tarrlok turned his head to where Amon had stood the last time he saw him and said, "You know, I didn't quite catch your name." But when he turned around and noticed the man was no longer there, his voice had trailed off into a small one. He didn't think the man had left already and in such a hurry, without a trace. He shrugs slightly to himself and thanks the bartender for his new drink.

The man had reminded him so much of Noatak— although he had never known how he'd act as an adult, he did have some mannerisms that reminded him of him. But it couldn't be him. He and his family spent days looking for him after the storm and found no trace of him. Not even a body, but after many years passed, they just accepted the consensus that Noatak had probably died. Tarrlok frowned a bit as he looked down into his drink.

"This one's for you, Noatak," he whispered to himself and gulped the whole drink down.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to the lovely Dunya on twitter (@noatakownsme) for proofreading this fic. ily muah ! (p.s. sorry for putting you through this)


End file.
